


oh, you move me

by evil bunny wolf (evil_bunny_king)



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, PWP, always feels, and some feels - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-18 01:09:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7293337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evil_bunny_king/pseuds/evil%20bunny%20wolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Frank,” she tries to say.</p><p>His fingers flex against her cheek. Her words are muffled by the flesh of his palm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	oh, you move me

He presses her into the sheets. Pins her there, thigh thick and firm between her legs and he smothers her moans with his palm across her mouth, biting his way down her throat. She rolls against him, breath hitching as he grants her friction - he is over her, around her, all-encompassing and she is bounded and limitless all at once.

Her pulse flutters in her throat. She feels him smile against her skin.

“Easy,” he murmurs, once, placing the word on the underside of her jaw. He shifts his leg away and she makes a note of protest, but he only moves to settle over her, kicking his sweats from his ankles.

She feels him hard against the crease of her hip.

“Frank,” she tries to say.

His fingers flex against her cheek. Her words are muffled by the flesh of his palm.

He leans himself back to look her, taking his time, and she burns.

“Frank,” she tries again – he’s playing with her and it’s working but she will kick him if she has to and he huffs a laugh as if he can tell what she’s thinking. At last he concedes to her insistence, sinking down into her arms. As he settles though he grinds his hips into hers, slow and sure. Almost enough, but not quite.

She bites at his hand. He hisses and then laughs, releasing her to smudge his thumb along her lower lip.

“Not very polite, Ms Page.” He accompanies the words with another roll of his hips and her breath catches, warm in her throat.

“You’re teasing,” she tells him, trying to sound chiding. “ _That’s_  impolite.”

“Mmm?” He dips to suck a love bite against her neck and she bites her lip at the rush of it, hooking a knee around his waist. She feels his responding groan.

“There are - condoms, lube,” she manages, running his fingers through his growing-out crew cut. “In the drawer. To your right.”

He hums again, in understanding, in acknowledgement, but still he doesn’t move, a hand smoothing to the small of her back. He mouths his way to her shoulder, now feather-light, now with an edge of teeth, and she squirms under his attentions, trying to pull him to face her again. It’s at times like this she wishes she could tell what he was thinking. When to push, when to wait, when to let him bring them to the edge of the boundaries he so carefully demarcated around himself– she’d never truly understood patience before him, she thinks, but she tries, she tries.

There were moments when he shuddered open. Moments where he was not purpose or fury or even Frank, moments when they could just simply – be.

She feels him pause at the hollow of her throat, his breath heavy against her skin and she wonders if this is one of those times.

She stills herself. Forces herself to breathe.

“Frank?” she says after a moment.

His grip tightens. His hand slides down her side to her hip, squeezes, and it takes another second, but he does tilt back his head to look at her, gaze flitting from her eyes to her mouth.

“I want this,” he says, voice rough, answering her unspoken question. She feels the urge to laugh, despite herself, because for all that she struggles to read him she might as well be an open book. “Yeah? I want this.”

“Okay,” she says, and if the word sounds smaller than it should, then she ignores it.

“Yeah,” he says again, and a little voice in the back of her mind wonders who he is trying to convince, her or himself.

He leans forward, though, kissing her softly and then deeply and she returns it.

He draws her against him, crushing her against his heartbeat.

It doesn’t matter, she thinks, as he drags down her underwear and tosses them across the single room of her small apartment (all she could afford on a trainee journalist’s salary).  _He is here_ , and  _it’s enough_  and she wraps her hands around his neck.

There is salt on her lips. She licks it away, marks a trail to his collarbone and he groans beneath her touch.

“Gonna get it,” he says after another moment, breaking away. It takes her a second to place what exactly ‘it’ is as he stretches for her vanity but then she rakes her fingers up his exposed stomach, smiling as he tenses beneath her touch.

“Easy, easy,” he mumbles, smile in his voice and she rolls her eyes.

The light in the kitchenette plays across his bruised shoulders. She can see the extent of it now: the yellowed edges, the purple around the joints; he’d dislocated it, she thinks, but he doesn’t talk about his ‘work’ and so she rarely asks. It’s another one of those fine lines between them - and that little voice wonders if he thought that he could hide behind that, if with each step from her doorstep to her bed he left the Punisher, the broken man, whoever or whatever he was now, behind.

She's not sure what that leaves, though. She doesn’t think he knows either.

His fingers fumble with the wrapper and she still laughs as he pulls it away from her reaching hands, clicking his tongue.

“Alright there?” she asks, fondly.

“Think I got it,” he grunts, trying and failing to keep a straight face, but when he succeeds in tearing the packet open he grins and pushes her firmly back into the mattress, kissing her with a thoroughness that takes her breath away.

She vaguely feels his hands sliding between them. Feels him arch, breaking contact so he can slide on the condom and spill lube all over her sheets and it’s ridiculous and it’s _them_ , whatever they are in this moment and she can't help but laugh again. She giggles at his muttered curses until slicked fingers press inside her, curling familiarly.

He grins at the way her voice stutters, and presses his forehead to her own.

“Karen,” he says, not a request or an order, just her name, and it sinks between her ribs warm and  _right_.

He sets a lazy rhythm, murmuring to her and stroking, heat building, until she gasps on a breath before he can muffle it.

“Shhh, shhh,” he chuckles, pressing his forehead to hers. But he doesn't stop. He doesn't look away. His lips are parted as he watches her, as he leans in.  “The neighbors.”

She tries to narrow her eyes at him, at his  _smugness,_ and pulls his thumb into her mouth. The hitch in his breath is sweet - he watches her mouth, eyes heavy and intent, and he grinds down on her clit with his palm and she can’t help her cut off sigh as pleasure curls through her.

He exhales shakily, dragging his thumb free and smoothing it along the curve of her cheek.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, keeping the steady, torturous pace. His gaze flicks from the flush rising across the bridge of her nose to her eyes, her bitten lips. “That’s it, like that.”

He watches her fall apart like this. Slowly, sweetly, working her open with his fingers and then his tongue until she shudders her release, arching against the arm slung over her hips. He groans as her fingers twist in his hair, her nails grazing his scalp. He has a way of making her feel vulnerable and powerful all at once. As if she’s laid open and stripped bare and so is he, the two of them neither dead or alive.

When he levers himself back up to her she drags him into a long kiss, ignoring the taste of her on his tongue. He knots a hand in her hair, pulling to that edge of pleasure and pain and this time he doesn’t hesitate when she wraps her legs around his waist, he reaches down and presses himself inside her, letting out a soft sound when they come flush together.

They lose the rest of the night to these moments. Curled one around the other, tacky with sex and sweat and the tangle of heavy limbs.

They stay like that until the morning and he slips from her grasp once more, taking each heavy step back through the door of her small apartment.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from: [Faces - Reuben Hollebon](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wCdYIoCE3pA). Second try at smut - only took two days to write this time, haha.
> 
> Also I wrote this the day of brexit when i felt awful and looking back at this a year later I can actually say that I like this, despite the UK still going to shit. That's something :)


End file.
